


Wither and Turn Gray

by IAmWhelmed



Series: Origami Birds [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014)
Genre: Amnesiac Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian thinks he is anyway but that's what Unreliable Narrator is there for, Detective Conan AU, Gen, Hurt Damian Wayne, Unreliable Narrator, he gets one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed
Summary: Damian gets his memories back.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Original Character(s)
Series: Origami Birds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786054
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Wither and Turn Gray

_In the midnight light of yesterday I suddenly realized_  
_Picking up the fallen petals was just so meaningless._  
_Why did I never understand?_  
_They can only wither and turn gray in my hand._  
_My world lost all its color and stopped turning long ago..._

_...I'm not sure if my heart will mend  
But I have to let go of your hand_

[ _-Lee &Lie (Just Be Friends)_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBR7y9rC5Fc)

It was one of those nights. The ones where his memories had abandoned their form of painted birds in pretty glass jars, instead glitching in and out like a channel he couldn’t quite see. He tried to reach them, fighting the lingering ghost in the back of his mind that told him he wouldn’t like what he found. Four walls around him, eternally filling his eyes and ears with white noise, blinking in and out of existence. Sometimes it was a cave, sometimes it was a square bedroom, sometimes, the worst times, it was a castle and for that split second, every time, he could feel his hands heavy with blood and sin. His body told him new things every time the buzzing grew louder, the sound of an insecure broadcast shaved a layer off of his eardrums.

The cave brought him righteous anger, determination, a sense of loss, but more than anything, heart wrenching pain that sucked the soul out of him. Left him falling to his knees, begging for just one thing to go right. The bedroom brought him comfort, warmth, but even in those small moments, he couldn’t savor it because there was always something masked underneath, the vision of a locked door, his own hands against bars that filled his body with the sudden urge to convulse as though he’d been shocked. He’d been keeping somebody out, but somebody was keeping him in. In the last moments, before this room flitched away, he’d feel desolate and so, so hurt.

He could never make out the room for more than its walls, everything went by too fast;  _ cave, bedroom, castle _ , that’s what his mind provided in ways of explanation.

He woke up that night, clawing at his throat for air, freezing in the cold of his room as a thick layer of sweat coated his body and soaked his sleepwear. The feel of the thin material sticking to his skin was suffocating, but not as horrible as the vertigo. When you hear the word, you think it means dizzy, like the moments your vision fades in and out and jars side to side after you’ve stretched. The moment he opened his eyes, the room spun-- vertically. There was the odd feeling of his eyes rolling in the back of his head, the sensation that he could see what was behind him without turning his head, the debilitating loss of balance that he wasn’t sure left him tilting forward or backward, but it was on of the two and it made him sick to his stomach. And even as this happened, even as he tried to pry himself out of bed, peeling the three layers of sheets over his legs, he crumbled to the floor. The walls seemed to shift, but he was awake this time, and emotions rushed through him the way a wheel turns on Jeopardy. He wanted to watch it with Liz, right then. Anything other than folding into himself at his floor, opening and closing his eyes, watching as the room twisted and buzzed--  _ cave, bedroom, castle _ . The glass jar shattered.

Castle; Mother, the ever-arching goal that swallowed him whole, the threat and subsequent fear of punishment, the sensation of swords slicing at his skin, tearing him new, open wounds.

Bedroom; Brothers, no freedom, fear of letting them ( _ graysondraketodd _ ) in, the incessant longing, the craving, to be loved. The certainty that he was not.

Cave; the feeling of a jacket-- cape? -- over his back suddenly tugged over his face, the smell of oil and the cold smog that wrapped him, a voice in his head telling him over and  _ over and over  _ that he wasn’t good enough, that he wasn’t trusted, that no matter what he did, he would never be  _ his son-- _

“ _ FATHER! _ ” The words ripped out of him before he even knew the syllables had crossed his mind, and he paused. Because he knew.

He was Damian Wayne, son of Talia Al Ghul, Bruce Wayne’s  _ ward,  _ Batman’s newest Robin, and his greatest disappointment.

The tears came unbidden, like the ten year old child he’d thought he was only hours before, like the child he could have been. He sobbed. He crashed to the floor and set his forearms against the carpet and buried his face in it and screamed to himself as his lungs caved and his heart broke. His stomach felt so heavy but so weightless, like he could hurl it up if he tried. Because he remembered. He wasn’t a kid, he was a weapon. He wasn’t a son, not to Bruce Wayne, he was a chore, no matter how hard he tried to be anything else. He wanted to be good, why couldn’t he be good? His face was red hot to the touch, maybe from the burn of the carpet, maybe from the anguish tearing at his throat, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted the world to hear him, because this was so much worse than he ever thought his memories would be. He had no place in this wretched world, what was the point?

“Christian, shh, shh. It’s okay. I’m here.” He gasped, but it came out as a sob. Warm hands, not at all hot like his skin, lifted him by the shoulders, then pulled him into arms that spilled over with adoration.

“L- _ Liv _ …”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, now. I’ve got you.” He got one passing look at her, hair a mess with her habit of tossing and turning, maya blue eyes glossy with sleep, but so filled with love. For him. She tucked his head into his neck, running one soothing hand through his hair, and the Damian in him died at the touch, but Chris came alive. He whimpered and dug his face into her skin, and she shushed him again, running her hand over his trembling back. “Shh, I’ve got you, sweetie, I’ve got you. You’re okay.” She lifted him, cradled him to her chest like an infant, and he wanted to spit, but it felt good to be babied, maybe just the once. She pressed a kiss to his head and whispered sweet words to him, holding him close, him holding her closer, until well after the sun came up.

* * *

Liv didn’t let go of his hand as they left for school that morning, even after the rest of the kids came barreling past them. Emrik had nearly tripped and made a rolling boulder of himself, but Johanna caught him by the scruff just in time. Nobody had even noticed the embarrassing hand-holding, er, until Emrik went out of his way to point it out. Clement smacked his pointed finger, and Lucie whined when he refused to hold her hand, too.

“You’re such a baaaby~! Holding your sister’s hand on the way to school! I don’t hold my sister’s hand!”

“Emrik, you don’t have a sister. And he’s not a baby.” Clement knocked their bigger friend upside the head. Not very effective, considering how lanky Clement was, but it got the point across. Emrik gripped at his head and chuckled. “Though such a display is unprecedented for you, Chris. Are you okay?”

Lucie parted her lips and tried to mouth out the word  _ unprecedented. _ Johanna laughed through her nose. “I’m just fine, guys, I got a little dizzy last night is all.”

“Vertigo is common, but it could be a sign of a much bigger concern. Diabetes, low blood pressure,” Johanna raised an eyebrow, smiling downright mockingly at him. He grimaced. “You should get yourself checked out, Detective. All of that thinking might have given you a brain tumor.”

He looked between Johanna and Clement, one who had still not stopped smirking like a goddamn gremlin, the other who stared at him with genuine concern. “Those are awfully big words for little kids…” They all laughed.

And that got him thinking. He hadn’t said a word to Liv last night, said nothing about regaining his memories, because that meant a lot of things. He knew who he was, his real name, where his family was, but he also knew his father. Batman was nothing if not a thorough detective, a man smarter than any other he’d known, sniffed out clues like a trained dog-- if his father hadn’t found him yet, he wasn’t looking for him. He wasn’t wanted home, so where was he supposed to go? Because surely, once Liv and Abner knew his memories had come back, they’d make him go-- back to Gotham, back to the family where he was never good enough, where he was a bloodthirsty monster and he’d never be anything more. But he had no place in the Tathum home as Damian Wayne. Chris Tathum was gone, severing any connection he had to these people, this school, this home, this place. He squeezed Liv’s hand and closed his eyes.

He had to let go.

* * *

The school day had gone by agonizingly slow, despite the day carrying on as normal. Their teacher read them a chapter from one of her favorite novels, and Lucie had become devoted to the words. He’d glanced over and found her big blue eyes, as wide and childish as Jon’s, were full of stars. Her small lips had formed a small circle, chin rested on her clasped hands as she eagerly awaited to see just how the princess would find out the prince had been by her side all along. He’d unintentionally found a small smirk on his face, for which he blamed Chris’s lingering candor.

Clement had spent the better part of science class messing with the goo he’d made from the materials provided for them, hiding it away when the teacher came over. At some point, Emrik had taunted him, and Clement had flung the goo across the table the way one unleashes a slingshot. Lucie and Johanna, who had actually been working, squeaked and flipped their beaker through the air. The notes he’d been taking, with his usual disinterest, were covered in the green half-liquid-half-solid. It smelled gross, and despite the teacher’s nagging as their small table apologized profusely, he found himself rather unbothered. He blamed it on Chris’s disregard for timeliness, because assignments were important despite what the goo on Clement’s hands was mouthing.

At lunch, Emrik had swallowed his spaghetti in nearly one bite, and Johanna had clicked her tongue and whipped out a handkerchief from  _ somewhere _ and wiped at his mouth. All the while she scolded him on the health implications of eating too fast, Damian couldn’t help but feel… happy. He wished he could blame that on Chris, but maybe he couldn’t.

* * *

That night, he sat at the small square table and drank it all in. Liv’s huge smile as she recounted her day, how she’d gotten a good grade on her french test, how she’d split three planks of wood in half with her bare hand, how she’d received praise from her mentor. Abner followed in kind by moaning about how difficult his latest case was, how there were a million fingers pointed in a million different directions, then how some guys in his station pulled a prank on the chief by stashing a confetti cannon in his desk and rigging it to pop open at the slightest provocation. He followed along silently, and even laughed when Abner told them about the way Chief Maguire reacted-- the man was apparently not above retaliation, and retaliation involved twenty direct shipments from prison of contraband that had gotten by in the worst way possible. He soaked up the smell of chili, and savored the taste of the hot pepper warming his mouth and burning away the place in his throat that still felt like screaming. Liv had always been good at cooking, had been cooking for her father from an early age. He thought, maybe, that was what he would miss the most.

He waited until after dinner was done, and Liv was taking the plates from their table to wash them. Abner took to the couch to look for a movie, “Something fun” he’d said. Damian saw him sticking to the cartoons; he meant something that Chris would enjoy.

Liv turned her back to the living room, and Damian raised his watch, pressing the button that ticked the crosshairs open. Abner was right in his sights, oblivious, smiling, looking happy even though he anticipated spending the next 2 hours watching childish drivel. Damian swallowed the sudden need to scream, again, and fired.

“Hey, Liv. Let me help you with the dishes!”

“Aw, that’s sweet, Chris, but I’m already done. Go sit with Dad, I’ll be in in a minute.”

She would be. He grinded his teeth and tried to count down, the way he had the first few times he had to kill, the first few times when he could still see the blood growing on his hands and it hadn’t been lost to the sea that swallowed him.  _ 5, 4, 3, 2… _

“I’m sorry.”

_1._ The sleep dart made contact with the back of her neck, and she fell like brick to the cold tiled floor.

He propped her up against her father, rested Abner’s arm over her shoulders, set her head at his shoulder so she’d be comfortable. For Abner, he readjusted his head to rest against Liv’s, because he always complained when he woke up from solving a case and his neck hurt. When he stepped away, they looked comfortable, like she’d merely fallen asleep in her father’s embrace, like he’d passed out when he noticed his little girl fast gone in his arms. He could appreciate the feeling, properly now, knowing what it felt like to be so safe, so content, that he could just slip away for a little while. He had them to thank for that. He’d treasure that memory, even when he was long gone.

Damian reached out and pressed a strand of Liv’s hair out of her face, taking in the hook of her nose, the height of her cheeks, the beauty of her complexion. He tried to savor the feel of her cheek against his hand, memorize the way her skin felt against his fingers. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for me. You have graced me with your home, your family, and welcomed me into your life. For that, you will never know the depths of my gratitude.” He swallowed again, tried not to scream, and demanded his body to rid itself of the burning that wouldn’t go away, the way his eyes struggled to see her. This was for the best. Liv belonged here, belonged in this life as the daughter of a detective, a karate champion, a responsible student, he had no place in that world. The kids would grow older and forget about him. Liv would grow older, too. He hoped, maybe, that she’d miss him, but he’d learned to never hope for such things. Dangerous thoughts like that got him into trouble once or twice already, and he wanted these people, this place, to be a fond memory.

He switched the volume on the television to low.

The front door would be left unlocked, but the neighborhood was safe, and this was not Gotham. He held tight to the doorknob and glanced back, one last time, at the family that once belonged to Chris Tathum. He could see just over the back of the couch, watch as their heads bobbed up and down with the silent rhythm of breathing. They’d be worried when they awoke, they’d wonder where he was. He had to be long gone. “Goodbye, Abner... Goodbye, Liv.”

**Author's Note:**

> I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO BE CONFUSING I'M SO SORRY
> 
> This story is not released in chronological order, but it will be ordered in the series in chronological order. This takes place after A Glass Jar, but before any other piece I wrote in this series. There will be one fic following this one that will bridge the gap between this fic and Big Sister;Little Brother. I hope that helps xD Sorry I'm like this


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